


Plan B

by LittleUggie



Series: Evil Author Day [6]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Supernatural
Genre: I have too many pages of notes, I may have to include a list of characters later, I swear I will finish this one someday, M/M, Self indulgent crossover fic, Supernatural does not play by the rules of their own universe so neither will I, Work In Progress, cherry picking the characters I like from both fandoms, gratuitous amount of made up lore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:02:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22748248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleUggie/pseuds/LittleUggie
Summary: Being an account of the events related to the second attempt of the forces of heaven and hell to bring about the end of times. This time in America with an overly convoluted plot, as is more befitting a cinematographic film that can be sold in as many countries as possible.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Evil Author Day [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1635586
Comments: 11
Kudos: 45





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So I read Good Omens for the first time when I was about 11 (I'm 25 here in Feb 2020, so you do the math). It was the first book I checked out from the adult section of the library. I didn't understand half the jokes and I loved it immensely. Several years later I casually get into Supernatural because my two best friends are obsessed with it. I have many, many issues with the show, but overall it is enjoyable. No one can deny that there are a lot of thematic similarities between the two works, even if they have completely different tones.
> 
> (I highly suspect that some of the Supernatural writers are Neil Gaiman fans because there are some other subtle hints at his works in the show, but that is a discussion for another time.)
> 
> Then the amazon prime show came out, and it may be the best film adaptation of a book I have ever seen. It is so good. I love it so much. And the fandom fucking exploded like a 1933 Bentley. So now feels like the right time to finally write this fic that has been knocking around my head for so many years. 
> 
> Now due to the nature of the two shows they have some character name overlaps. I will attempt to make this the least amount of confusing as possible, and will try to include notes in the chapters in which they appear and which show they are from. Also, I am disregarding most of the Supernatural canon after season 6 except when I'm not. And also I am making a lot of shit up to try and fit the two shows' lores together. But Supernatural makes shit up that doesn't fit in with their own canonical lore all the time so I don't feel too bad about it. 
> 
> But here is a very basic breakdown of who is who and what fandom they are from.
> 
> Crowley from Good Omens and Crowley from Supernatural are both present (it's gonna be a thing)  
> Gabriel is from Supernatural  
> Raphael is going to be played by the Gabriel from Good Omens (Just switch out John Hamm's character name for the archangel fucking Raphael.)  
> War, Famine, and Pollution from Good Omens will be three of the Horsemen.  
> Death, however, will be the Supernatural version. (Reapers will also be a thing, though I am really resisting the urge to stick some Discworld characters into this)  
> Uriel is the Supernatural version  
> Lucifer is pretty much the Supernatural version (though I am currently watching the show Lucifer, so some of that might slip in)  
> Michael is more of the Supernatural version.
> 
> I am going to try and explain as much of the mish mash mythos as I can in the story (hopefully without getting too bogged down) but if you have any questions, or feel the need to point out a plot hole caused by indiscriminate lore crossover, please comment!
> 
> Also, also, footnotes are kind of a pain to read on AO3, so the things that would have been footnotes are now in brackets underneath the related content.

1983

The Great Plan did not go as, well, Planned. This made a lot of people very angry.

[Or, more accurately, it made a lot of occult and ethereal beings very angry] 

Eleven years ago, the cage of Lucifer had finally been found and the child, The Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of this world, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness, was brought into existence to free him from his bonds and lead the armies of Hell as they razed the Earth and defeated the Heavenly Host. 

Instead, the little brat banished the Horsemen, spurned the armies, and denied his father. Lucifer’s cage stayed locked, the world turned on, and the forces of both Heaven and Hell were left floundering and uncertain, and in times of uncertainty, it is very easy for someone clever and ambitious to seize control. 

Azazel had his eye on Beelzebub’s thrown for centuries. With the spectacular failure of the world not ending, and unable to even punish the convenient scapegoat, it was easy enough to depose the Lord of the Flies. 

[There really weren’t all that many Fallen to begin with, and many had perished in the original battle. That’s why Lucifer had created Lilith and eventually the other mortal demons. Most of the demons in Hell now were corrupted human souls, far outnumbering the Fallen. The forces of Hell would need the extra numbers when the Final Battle arrived. Plus it meant that there was always someone to do the grunt work. Hell was a strict hierarchy, every demon of a rank higher than Knight was Fallen. Even Crowley was technically a Knight of Hell, just for form’s sake, though he never used the title because he didn’t like the kind of attention a title like that brought.]

Azazel was one of the few of the Fallen to openly work with mortal demons, instead of just ordering them around or torturing them for fun. Azazel didn’t believe in letting potential go to waste, and rallied the [extremely] unwashed masses behind him.

His coup went as smoothly as an extremely violent transition of leadership can go.

[A bloody mess that made both the French and Russian Revolutions look like school yard spat, but at least was over fairly quickly.] 

Azazel would actually lead, not leave the important work to incompetent underlings. He had a Plan. Technically, it was still The Great Plan, but some details had to be...altered. It wasn’t as straightforward as Plan A. It would take some time and a lot of manipulation. It would even take some (ugh) cooperation with upstairs, but they were as eager for the big fight as Hell. The End was nigh, or damn near nigh at least. Azazel had a baby to find.

1985

Crowley showing up at Aziraphael’s shop to get drunk was not an unusual occurrence, though he did always offer to buy the angel dinner first (he could be a gentleman like that even if he would stringently deny it). Crowley showing up already thoroughly pissed was rather rare. 

[In fact, Aziraphale could only remember one occurance at the beginning of the fourteenth century when he’d shown up at the door of the apothecary he was working in and immediately passed out on the threshold.] 

So it was quite surprising when Crowley suddenly crashes on the floor in the backroom of his shop at two in the morning with a soft rustle of wings mostly drowned out by loud cursing. Aziraphale had been working on restoring the binding of a badly damaged illuminated manuscript.

[He had spent quite a bit of time at the monastery it had been created in and had been pleased to find it. He had been less pleased about the state it was in. You could barely see the humorous pictures Brother Brutha had hidden in the designs and more. Of course, he could have just miracled the book back into immaculate condition, but that was cheating.] 

He frowns at his friend. “Flying intoxicated?” He tuts. “You know better than that, dear.” 

It is a rare event nowadays for either of them to fly at all. Crowley much prefers his Bently, and Aziraphale enjoys the experience of travelling as a human most of the time. It had quickly become obvious to the pair that in order to keep a low profile among the human populace, flying must be a seldom and surreptitious event and mundane means of travel must be embraced.

[If the Bently could ever be considered mundane.]

Nothing screams supernatural entity louder than seemingly appearing and disappearing out of thin air. 

“Pisssss off.” Comes the reply from the tangle of limbs and hair on the floor, somehow managing to hiss and slur at the same time. Aziraphale gives him a Disapproving Look. The effect is rather ruined since the intended recipient is face down and can’t see it. He tries to project an ethereal air of celestial disapproval that the demon could sense, though it was beginning to look like he was too impaired to even sense anything. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale nudges the sad lump with a loafer clad foot. He gets a soft hiss in return. 

“Crowley,” He repeats, starting to get worried. “What’s brought you here in such a state?” 

“Nnnnmmphssss.” 

“I didn’t quite catch that, my dear.” 

With seeming herculean effort, Crowley rolls himself onto his back. 

“Not me.” He says, his sunglasses are askew on his face and his hair looked like it had lost a fight with a weed wacker, but for all Aziraphale knew that was the style he was wearing it these days. 

“What’s not you?” The angel asks. He reaches out a hand with the intent of helping the demon up. Crowley stares at it as if it had just told him his puppy had died after committing mass murder. 

“Cr-oh-lee.” He enunciates carefully, pushing himself into a sitting position. 

“You’re not Crowley?” Aziraphale eyes him carefully. His aura looks like Crowley’s, if slightly dampened. 

“N’t a’y m’re.” He mumbles, looking so despondent, Aziraphale feels compelled to sit down beside him and wrap a friendly arm around his shoulders. 

“There, there, dear. Now what’s this all about?” 

Crowley rests his head on the angel’s shoulder. 

“It woss a g’d name, yeah? Really was ME. D’dn’t like the other. Or the old one. Firsssst. Losst that, too.” 

This did not clear up anything for Aziraphale. “Mayhaps you could sober up? There’s a good chap. I haven’t the foggiest idea what you are talking about.” 

“It’ssss my name! But not. Not a’y m’re. Told ya. Other bloke’s now.” 

Aziraphale frowned, beginning to put pieces together. “You lost your name?” 

Crowley half groans, half hisses, trying to tap the side of his nose and just knocking his glasses the rest of the way off. 

“How did you manage that?” Aziraphale asks, mystified. He now knows what the demon meant by First. All the Fallen had their true, angelic names stripped from them when they were cast down. Except for Lucifer, but he was always a bit of a special case. 

[In every sense of the term]

But Crowley is just a name the demon had chosen himself. He’d been using it for over two thousand years. 

The demon formerly known as Crowley belatedly took Aziraphale’s advice and grunted as he sobered up, smacking his lips and grimacing at the taste in his mouth. Shakily, he stood up, running his hands down his suit to smooth out the wrinkles. He clears his throat, embarrassed. 

“Didn’t mean to barge in like this. Let me make it up to you. Breakfast?” 

Aziraphale also stood up, watching his friend worriedly. It was a very good worried look. The angel’s vessel had a very good face for looking worried that he had perfected over the centuries along with his disapproving look. 

“It’s two-thirty in the morning.” 

The demon swiped his fingers through his hair, “Is that a no?” 

“Nothing is open, unless you were planning to cook.” 

“You say that as if you think I can’t cook.” 

Aziraphale looks doubtful. “Can you?” 

“Well, no, but the point is, you didn’t know that.”

“I rather think I did.” 

“I could cook if I wanted to.”

“I’m sure you could, dear.” 

“Anyway, it’s London, this is the twentieth century. I’m sure we could find some place open willing to do us a fry up.” 

“I think we can afford to wait a few hours until somewhere decent starts serving. Now, what is all this about you losing your name?” 

The demon formerly known as Crowley squirms under the penetrating gaze of the angel. He looks around the shop with unconvincing interest. For a professional liar, he could never keep anything from Aziraphale. 

“Oh, you know. It was just a...thing.” 

“Crow-. Well, what should I call you now?” 

The demon frowns, fiddling with a book restoring tool that was rather reminicent of a torture implement. 

“Oh, I’ll have to think about it. I’ll get back to you.” 

“But how-?” 

“What are you working on here?” The demon interrupts, closely examining the half bound book as if fascinated. 

Aziraphale sighs. Obviously the demon wasn’t going to explain anything if he was going so far as to ask about Aziraphale’s books to avoid the subject. Well, if he was going to ask, the angel was not going to pass up this opportunity to wax poetic. The two supernatural beings spent the rest of the night drinking cocoa and bickering. When the sun rose, they went and got breakfast, but Aziraphale still did not manage to pry out of the demon how he lost his name.


	2. Chapter 2

2008

In the middle of the desert, a man rises from the dirt and Heaven rejoices. In a different hemisphere, an angel pauses in the midst of taking a bite of cake. His dinner companion raises an eyebrow behind his dark glasses. 

“Something wrong?” 

“It’s heaven.” Aziraphale replied quietly, staring at nothing. Or perhaps staring at something only he could perceive. 

The demon’s lackadaisical mood vanishes. He leans forward, intently focused. “I thought you didn’t listen to the celestial wavelength. Sorry about that, by the way. Who would have thought they’d adapt the idea?” 

  
  


[Before Crowley introduced the idea of communication from HQ to Earth via electronic transmission, they had to use blood scrying. It was a messy and inefficient system. Plus the sound quality was frankly shit. Some of the older demons still preferred it, though. No respect for innovation.]

  
  


“I do try to tune it out. I’m not sure they realize I can hear them, and it seems rude to eavesdrop.” 

The demon gives an exasperated huff, and rolls his eyes behind his glasses. 

“But it is rather loud at the moment, everyone talking at once. Something big has happened.” The angel frowns, brow furrowing in concentration as he tilts his head. 

The demon pours the rest of the bottle of wine into his glass, feeling sure he was going to need it. “What are they saying?” 

“A name?” Aziraphale says. “Dean Winchester. Ring any bells?” 

“Never heard of him.” 

“They’re calling him...the Righteous Man?” 

“Bit pretentious.” 

“The Righteous Man...” 

“Yes?” The demon asks, but Aziraphale doesn’t answer right away, frowning down at his cake, deep in thought. 

“Angel? You still with me?” 

“I’ve seen that title before.” 

“Name of some book or other, I’d imagine.” 

“A book, yes.” Aziraphale drums his fingers on the table, an unusual nervous tic for the angel. “I think, we’d better cut dinner short.” 

The demon pales to an unnerving degree that in an actual human would denote total exsanguination. The angel was suggesting leaving dinner early. This was Serious. 

While Dean Winchester was attempting to figure out what [the actual] hell happened, Aziraphale and his demon friend-

  
  


[The demon formerly known as Crowley had gone through several names since he had ‘lost’ his moniker. How this had happened he had still never explained. Aziraphale had given up trying to remember them as he was never able to stick with one for more than a few months and tended to just call him ‘dear’ when he wasn’t slipping up and calling him Crowley. That name really had been perfect. Though he did fall back on Anthony when he was trying to come up with something new.]

  
  


-were in one of the physically impossible storage rooms in Aziraphale’s book shop looking through a selection of dusty old books. Some of which the demon could not touch as they were technically blessed. And one of which had been splattered with the blood of a martyred saint. 

“What are we even looking for?” The demon asks after an hour. He had managed to hang on more patiently than usual considering how serious the angel looked, but he was not one for research. Well, not dusty book research. He rather liked participating in focus groups. And he had invented the internet survey. 

“I believe there is a text written in...oh...the one thousands perhaps, that details the Seals that contain Lucifer. It was written by one of the prophets. Ishmael, perhaps? Oh, they all start to run together. I didn’t meet him, I came across his work later after it had been translated and compiled with the work of several prophets, though he was the only genuine one in the bunch, I believe.” 

“Alright, that doesn’t help so much with why we are looking for it. This Righteous Man was mentioned by him? Bit late in the game if he was written about way back then.”

“I’ve brought out other work that mentions the Seals. I think…” The angel trails off, pulling a thick tomb written in ink so faded it was nearly illegible. The demon tried to read it upside down. Looked like Hebrew. 

The angel looks up, eyes worried. “The first seal is broken when a righteous man sheds blood in Hell. Oh, Crowley.” The demon didn’t even try to correct him, caught up in his own horror as he comprehended what this means. “They’re trying to restart The End.” 

The two sat glumly, both staring at nothing caught up in their own thoughts for a long while. The demon was the first to break the silence. “Should have seen this coming. They were so gung ho for the end, figures they would find another way.” 

“Have you heard anything, from, down there?” The angel asked delicately. 

“Not much. You’ve been there sooner than I last was. I have a few contacts that are willing to associate with a traitor in exchange for some stuff. Luxury items, information, that sort of thing. Crossroad demons, mostly, as they tend to get more time on Earth. There was a big rollover in lower management- 

[in any other context this would be upper management]

\- not long after the...not quite end times. Beelzebub got the boot and Azezal, some duke or other took over. Don’t know him too well, but he’s tight with Lilith, I hear.” He sighs, taking off his glasses and rubbing his face tiredly. “What are we going to do, angel?” 

The angel begins fussing, sorting the books into stacks. “I guess we’ll have to contact Adam.” 

“You think he’ll help?”

“Well, I doubt he wants the world to end. He was very keen to keep it last time.” 

“True, but do you think he  _ can _ help?” 

“You don’t think so?” 

“Don’t know, I mean, he changed the world. I don’t know if he kept any powers after that change. I would have thought we’d have heard about it if he had.” 

“Perhaps we should have kept in contact.” 

“He did fine enough without us meddling in his childhood.” 

“How old is he now?” 

“Thirty-six.” 

“Has it really been that long?” 

“Humans age fast, angel.” 

“Yes. Sometimes it seems only yesterday that Adam and Eve were frolicking around the garden.” 

“ _ Frolicking _ . Not the word I would have used for what they were doing.”

“There is no need to be crass.” Aziraphale sniffed.

“Angel, there is always a need to be crass. Or so you would think, watching humanity. As soon as they figured out their parts they started f-”

“Now really!”

The demon smiled like a snake. “There is no need to be prudish.” He mocked.

“Modesty is a virtue.” 

“And yet the humans had none until they had knowledge of good and evil. The author of modesty, angel.” 

“I should have never introduced you to Ingersoll.-

  
  


[What’s this? An actual, serious footnote?  [ https://neil-gaiman.tumblr.com/post/171544194656/laveyinthehouse-if-the-account-given-in ](https://neil-gaiman.tumblr.com/post/171544194656/laveyinthehouse-if-the-account-given-in) ]

  
  


-I still can’t believe you went around claiming to be agnostic.” 

“Casts doubt in the hearts of the faithful. That’s what I told the home office, anyway. Just seemed funny at the time, really.” 

“Really, Cr-. Oh, I’m sorry, my dear.” 

The demon waves a hand, but Aziraphale can see that the slip bothers him. More so than when he used to call him Crawley. He wondered if he would ever learn the story there. 

“So, Tadfield, then?” The angel asks to change the subject. 

“We don’t know if he’ll still be there.” 

“Oh, you couldn’t feel how much he loved that town. I highly doubt he moved away.” 

“Well, it’s a place to start, anyway.” 


	3. Chapter 3

At that moment, in Tadfield, Adam Young was lying awake in bed staring at the ceiling, wondering about the strong sense of deja vu he was feeling. 

His life wasn’t particularly exciting. Certainly wasn't the nonstop adventures he had dreamed about when he was a child, but, honestly, excitement and adventure seemed a bit overrated after learning you are the Antichrist and narrowly avoiding the apocalypse. He lived a boring, predictable life, in a small town so unremarkable and perfect as to be a supernatural aberration. And he loved it. He liked that he knew everyone by name and that the biggest controversy was who was vandalizing the library wall. Tadfield was his, and he felt a great deal of responsibility for it. He still remembered that day-that week- that didn’t happen. He was the only human-

  
  


[And Adam, no matter the circumstances of his birth or his continued theoretical power, was undeniably human] 

  
  


-who remembered exactly what happened that week.

  
  


[well the only human currently living. Agnes Nutter had premembered it.]

  
  


Pepper had asked when he was dividing up the world for them what part he would have. Even with the howling storm in his head promising everything he could ever want, all he wanted...was Tadfield. 

While some may say he was in a rut (thank you, Sarah, no one asked your opinion anyway), he felt that it was a comfortable rut. Like a favorite, often walked garden path, or a much loved overstuffed chair that has conformed to the shape of one’s behind. The previous day had followed much the same routine that it had for the last several years. It was Sunday, so he had slept late. Gone for a walk with Dog down to the diner where he had breakfast. Then he had graded the papers he had put off working on the day before, puttered around in his workroom-

  
  


[which is what he called his garage] 

  
  


-tinkering with an old Ford Prefect, before scrubbing up and going over to Sunday dinner at his parents’ house. His mum and sister had nagged him about Finding Someone. He had talked football with his father and brother in law, and kept his mouth shut when he saw his niece and nephew slip bites to Dog. 

  
  


[Having been with Adam for nearly 25 years, Dog was the oldest living canine on Earth, a detail that no one in Tadfield ever seemed to notice or question. Of course, as a hell hound, Dog was actually several centuries old, but most of that time had been lost in the fog of his doggie memory, crowded out by interesting smells and a desire for belly rubs. Only the tiniest spark of hellish instinct was left smoldering in the terrierish dog]

  
  


Then he went home and got ready for bed, having to get up early the next day for work. Only to be kept awake by this nagging feeling. He rolled over, disturbing Dog sleeping at the foot of the bed. The once-hellhound blinked blearily at his master before rolling over and going back to sleep with his feet in the air, snoring loudly. Adam looks out the bedroom window where the sky was just starting to turn a dark grey in preparation for the dawn. He tried to put the odd sensation out of his mind, closing his eyes and trying to breathe deeply. 

Just as he was on the very edge of sleep, his eyes flew open and he sat straight up in bed, making Dog yip, and tumble off the end. It wasn’t a feeling of deja vu, it was a Feeling. He so seldom used that Sense that he didn’t recognize it. Oh, this was bad. He needed to talk to-. He looked at the clock. Well, it could probably wait. She wouldn’t be too happy about him knocking on her door this early. 

Unbeknownst to Adam, the she he was thinking of was already awake and would have welcomed the company. She was currently sitting at her kitchen table clutching a cup of rapidly cooling tea and and staring at the lock box sitting on the table. Her husband slept on upstairs, blissfully unaware of her current turmoil. 

She hadn’t burned The Book pt 2, or otherwise destroyed it. It felt wrong, and frankly an insult to her remarkable ancestor. Instead, she had locked it in a fireproof box and shoved it in the back of a closet where it had stayed for the last twenty odd years while she learned to live a life that wasn’t as a Professional Descendant. But yesterday she felt The Book pt 2...calling to her. Like Agnes was whispering into her ear, telling her to gette off her sorrie arse. 

So she had dug the box out, spent a long time trying to figure out which key from the odds and ends drawer was the right one. 

  
  


[Where the hell did they all come from? They surely didn't have that many locks, one of these looked like a clock key. They didn’t even have a clock that needed to be wound. Had some of these been left here? The answer, of course, is that all houses have a drawer where keys eventually migrate to. And when you need a specific key there is only a 12% chance you will actually find the one you need in the drawer. Anathema’s odds were a little better for some Ineffable reason. How do these keys end up in these drawers without anyone knowing? The answer has something to do with the uncertainty principle and the machinations of the universe, but that explanation is too complicated to get into without a bunch of numbers and symbols, so let’s just say that it boils down to quantum, as so many things do.]

  
  


The Book pt 2 looked just as old and dusty as when she had opened it the day after...no the day of? Well, the day that she couldn’t really remember, but that had certainly been important in some ineffable way. The Book pt 2 felt familiar, for all she had never cracked the cover, but it filled her with nostalgia for the lost book. She had tried to gather up the note cards that had been rather scattered for a reason she couldn’t quite remember, and some of them had been lost. The prophecies were all passed now so there was no reason to study them, but she liked the connection to her previous relatives. She had shown them to her own children, but as they had not been raised on The Book like herself, they were rather unimpressed as children tend to be at evidence of life before their conception. 

  
  


[Nostalgia and remembrance is for adults, children are far too self centered to care about how things used to be] 

  
  


The urge to pull the book out now was worrisome and could only mean Bad Things were afoot. What she was going to do about them was another question. She could remember her drive so long ago to figure out and prevent...whatever happened. Since the world was still here, she guessed she must have succeeded. Though, in her heart of hearts, she suspected she didn’t actually have a lot to do with what happened aside from being a vehicle for fate. 

  
  


[This was, in fact, not accurate as fate does not actually exist, she was a vehicle for improbability, which always gives better odds than fate.] 

  
  


Her musing was distracted by the room suddenly lighting up with the glare of headlights shining through the curtains, and the low rumble of a car. Feeling like this is what she had been waiting for, she wraps her dressing robe around her tightly and opens the door to see an old black Bentley cruising slowly up the street. She walks down the front walk to stand by the mailbox. She might be fuzzy on the details of what happened on That Day, but she certainly remembers this car and the two odd men inside of it that haven’t seemed to age at all. 

In fact the polite one hasn’t even appeared to change his clothes.

They come to a stop, and the driver side window facing her rolls down. 

“I might have known. Hallo, Book-Girl.” The-man?-driving drawls. 

“Oh, my dear! It has been awhile, hasn’t it?” The polite one looks absolutely delighted to see her. “How are you?” 

“We aren’t here for small talk, angel.” 

“Well, there is no reason we can’t catch up.” 

“We are on a bit of a time crunch.” 

“The boy likely isn’t even awake at this time.” 

“Then we’ll-”

“You’re here for Adam?” Anathema broke into the bickering, drawing the attention of the two. She didn’t know how she knew this, but just as she knew that Adam had something to do with That Day, she knew that these two odd ageless men had to be looking for him. 

“Ah, yes.” The polite one said. “He does still live in the area?” 

“Yes, just a few doors down.” She suddenly realizes why she is awake so early. “Hold on one moment.” She hurries back inside and grabs The Book pt 2. 

She thrusts the book toward the still open window, cutting off whatever the driver had been furiously whispering to his companion. He looks startled, and automatically takes the heavy tomb from her. Which is then snatched out of his hands by his companion. 

“What’s this, then?” the driver asks not seeming too angry that it had been so abruptly taken from him. 

“You are going to need it,” Anathema said. “Good luck.” And with that she turns and marches back inside. Maybe she had rushed off to try and save the world when she was twenty two, but she was nearly fifty now. Her joints were starting to hurt when it was damp. She had two adult children and one grandchild. She would leave the saving the world to other people and enjoy the life she had built. Newt had been right on that Sunday morning. She liked her life and wasn’t about to go back to being a Professional Descendant. 


	4. Chapter 4

In the Bentley, the demon had pulled to a stop in front of the house with Young written on the postbox. Aziraphale was flipping carefully through the book given to them with a look that was almost -dare he say- lustful. It was a look the demon had only ever seen in regards to a specific type of Italian pastry made with almond paste that a certain baker had made in the sixteen hundreds. 

“It appears to be a book of further prophecies by Agnes Nutter. “ 

“What she wrote another? Quite a work ethic.” 

“No one in the world knows this book even exists. I’ve never heard anything about it before.” “Well no one but the woman who just gave it to us, and presumably her family.”

“Yes, yes, you know what I mean.” The angel waved at him impatiently. 

“Not that I don’t want to know what old Agnes has to say, but we are here for a reason.”

He looks toward the quiet dark house. If someone had asked him what sort of house the adult Antichrist would live in, he wouldn’t have said charming one story cottage with wainscoting. He wouldn't have thought that charming cottages would still exist by the time the boy was an adult. But here they were. 

“So should we just, go up and knock?” He asked nervously, resisting the urge to flick his tongue. It had rather less effect when it wasn’t forked. The limitations of the human body were sometimes frustrating but at least he had thumbs in this shape.

“Hmmm, oh, yes, yes.” Well, he had lost the angel, who was engrossed in his new book. He was quite familiar with this phenomena. He wouldn't come up for air for quite awhile. The demon sighs, looks like he was on his own for this then. He got out and paused, taking a deep, unnecessary breath, but it did make him feel a little better. Then he drew his attitude around him like a coat and sauntered up to the door and rang the doorbell, which gave a deep chime that was somehow exactly perfect for this house. From inside he heard the sound of four paws on the stairs and the excited yapping of a small dog. Slower and heavier were the footsteps that had him nervously tensing his shoulders. The brief time he had met the lad he hadn't been so bad. Terrifying in his power, but all in all a decent person. Didn’t want to end the world, fixed his car. But dealing with an eleven year old just coming into his power and dealing with an adult who had successfully controlled power for years was something completely different. Maybe they should have checked up on him more. The door opens, and there he stood. The Antichrist ...who looked as if he had just rolled out of bed, but rather unsurprised to see him. 

Adam sighs. “Quiet dog,” he says, softly but firmly and instantly the dog is quiet looking up at him with big mournful eyes. “I suppose you better come in, then.” The man says. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

  
  


[Because even if the world is literally ending, a British man will still put the kettle on and have a cuppa.]

  
  


“Yeah, let me.” He turns and waves, trying to get Aziraphales attention. When this predictably doesn't work he stalks back to the car, opens the passenger door, grabs the angel by the arm, physically tugs him out, and leads him to the door. It is a testament to the angels power of concentration that he doesn't even look up while this is happening only grumbling at the demon under his breath.

“Don’t mind him,” The demon says as he leads his friend past Adam, who raises his eyebrow at the sight. “He gets like this.” And, yes, the angel had pulled out those ridiculous round reading glasses that he doesn't actually need. 

  
  


[Crowley did not see the irony in him complaining about Aziraphale’s reading glasses.]

  
  


“So what has happened?” Adam asks as he pours the hot water into a teapot.

  
  


[It had flowers on it, as it had been a gift from his mum. He didn’t really consider himself a flowered teapot sort of bloke, but it did save him from having to buy his own. Plus, it made his mum happy when she came over to see him using it.]

  
  


He poured three cups, though he doubted the engrossed angel was going to drink, but best to be polite anyway. 

“Well, you know when the world didn't end?” The demon asked. 

“Yes, I was there.” 

“Yes, yes, course.” The demon shifts uncomfortably. Where was his suave, tempting tongue now? He used to be able to tell blatant lies to his superiors without even batting an eyelash.

“Well they are trying to start it up again.”

Adam closes his eyes, this was not how he wanted to start his week. “Why?”

“Don't know, guess they were more eager for it than we thought.” 

“I haven't heard anything.” No voices or urges to bend the world to his will like that day that didn’t happen. 

“Well, you wouldn't would you? Obviously you were a bad bet, so they are going a different route this time. Some seals or something. Aziraphale read about them in some book. Raised some bloke called the righteous man from hell and broke the first seal. Need sixty five more and your...not father will be free.” 

“And that will mean the end of the world?”

“I seriously doubt he is going to sit idle once he is out of his cage.” 

“That's probably true. So what are we going to do about it?”

“Aziraphale says the upstairs is all in a tizzy over this righteous man, Dean something or other. Guess we need to find him. And we have Agnes on our side, again. Apparently.” The demon gives his friend a side eye. Not that anyone could tell. The angel certainly did not notice,. “Hopefully, that will give us some advice once he resurfaces.”

“Alright.” Adam says. “Guess I'll need to find a sub. Any idea how long this will take?” 

“Considering we don't even know what to do? Probably til the end of the world.”

“Well, you said that these seals had to be broken in order for him to get out. Can we stop them from being broken?”

“We could try I guess.” The demon says. “Not entirely sure what all the seals are. There are a whole bunch of different ones. Only sixty-six need to be broken. The angel knows more about them, and, as you can see, he is out of service.” 

Adam looks at the angel. “Does this happen often?”

“Usually just around new books, and, to be fair, that is a very important book.” 

“So we need to look for this righteous man? Where is he?” 

“America.” 

The two hell beings look in surprise at Aziraphale’s interjection. There is an awkward silence as they wait for him to elaborate. When he doesn’t, the demon, fed up, yanks the book away. 

“Pardon me!” Azirapahale says, annoyed. 

“You can look at the book later. First, you need to explain.”

“Explain what?” The angel blinks slightly unfocused blue eyes at him. 

“The Dean person, the one who was raised from hell. You just said he was in America. How do you know?” 

“Oh, Agnes said. That was one of the first prophecies. At least if I am interpreting her correctly. And it seems to line up with what they are saying at headquarters.” 

“Good, good. that's great to hear,” says the demon, “Now where in America is he? It is a bleeding big country if you recall.”

“I'm sure we will be able to find him easily enough once we get there.” 

“We couldn’t even find an eleven year old boy when we knew where he had been born.” The demon says in exasperation. 

“How did you find me?” Adm asks curiously. 

“A series of coincidences mostly.” The demon shrugs.

“No, it was Agnes.” Aziraphale said. “It really is fortunate that the young lady-

  
  


[Anathema would laugh to hear herself referred to now as a young lady, but to Aziraphale, anyone born after the fall of Rome was a young whippersnapper.]

  
  


-delivered us the second part.” 

“Agnes knew where I lived?” Adam asks. Anathema had told him about Agnes. He thought she sounded like someone he would have liked to meet.

“So did John of Patmos, in a way. The number of the beast is 666.” 

“That’s dumb,” says Adam, “That was just my parent’s house number.”

“Well, I never said that it was clever, just accurate. Nice and accurate, in fact, but the first place we need to go is not actually after Dean Winchester, though, we will need to find him eventually. The first person we need to find is a boy named Jesse. Who also lives in America.” 

“Alright, why?” The demon asks.

“He is the new Antichrist.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Wait, I thought they were going a different route this time.” The demon says. 

“His death is one of the seals. He isn't quite on the same level of power as Adam here, but he has similar reality warping powers. They are going to go after him.” 

“They?” Adam asks.

“Heaven and hell. Both sides want the end to happen so there won't be much thwarting going on.”

Adam drains his teacup. “So, America, then.”

“Yes, I am afraid so.” The angel makes a face. “It has been a while since I’ve been to the colonies.”

“Probably want to avoid calling them that while we are there.” The demon says. “I didn't know you ever went to the Americas.” 

“Oh, I traveled with William Penn, in the 1600s, I believe? You have been much more recently.”

“Early last century. Spent some time in Hollywood. Rife with sin that place. Vanity, envy, lust, you name it, they got it. I liked the pictures, too. Fascinating technology, that. Still got some contacts over there.”. 

Adam looked torn between amazing and annoyed. “I might as well just quit my job. I love to see the look on my boss’s face. Sorry to leave in the middle of the school year. I have to make a quick jaunt across the ocean to stop the end of the world.’”

“Well, look at it this way, if you don't help save the world, you won't have a job to go back to.” The demon suggests.

“You teach?” Aziraphale asks, surprised.

“Yes.” Adam raises his eyebrows.

“I suppose I just didn't picture you growing up to be a teacher.” 

“Not sure anyone else did either.” Adam said wryly. “Certainly took my family by surprise.”

  
  


[Adam taught history and political science at Tadfield secondary, much to the consternation of some of the older teachers who had him as a student. He was overwhelmingly considered the favorite teacher of the student population.]

  
  


He sighs. “I’ll call in and say an emergency came up, and I’ll have to be gone until further notice. They can sort it out on their own.” He looks down at Dog who was in his usual spot at his feet, hoping that some scraps would fall his way since people were sitting at the table. “I guess I will have to get someone to watch Dog. Sorry, boy.” This perturbed Adam more than anything else. Dog had been his constant companion since he had shown up on his eleventh birthday, even when he had gone to college he had taken an apartment and smuggled the canine in, foregoing the usual dorm experience. The dog whines as if he could tell what was bothering his master.

“I don’t see why you can't take him with us.” Aziraphale said.

“I doubt he would like flying too much. Or being stuck in a crate.” 

“Oh, there is no need for that.” Aziraphale said. “We won’t be taking an aeroplane.”

“Hate the things.” The demon agreed. “You know I helped design Heathrow?” 

“That doesn't surprise me.” The man said. “So how will we get there?”

“Flying. These wings aren't just for show.”

“Especially since not many people can see them on this plane.” The demon adds. 

Adam blinks. “What are you saying?”

“We can fly across the globe in about a second.” Says the demon.

“Why didn’t you do that last time then?”

“There was a bit of a-what do you call it-fight delay. It was somewhat crowded on the dimensional plane we utilize for flight, what with the forces of heaven and hell gathering as they were. Not much room to stretch our wings at the time. It was something of a risk to stop time when I did, too, but we were out of options. But, prior to that, we were both under quite a bit of scrutiny, and we were trying to keep a low profile. Also, I wouldn't have been able to out fly Hastur. Barely out ran him through the phone line. Good thing he wasn't willing to ride with me through hell fire.

“Okay. So you can fly to America.” Adam summed up. “And you can take me and Dog with you?” 

“I’m taking the Bentley with me. Don't see why you can't come.” He frowns at the canine. “Not crazy about the hellhound in my car.” The hellhound in question woofles up at him, wagging his tail.

“He is very well trained.” Adam says reassuringly.

The demon does not look reassured.”He still sheds.” But he subsides on the issue at Adam’s frown. 

“You are taking the car? You know they drive on the wrong side of the road there.” Aziraphale fussed.

“So?” Asked the demon, not seeing the issue. “Nothing a little demonic miracle won’t solve.”

“I suppose your driving can only improve.” Said the angel, but looked rather worried. “You know we can’t risk getting discorporated, not now.” 

“I can drive.” Adam chimed in. Both the celestial and occult beings stared for a moment in silence at the man then shared a glance. The demon cleared his throat and changed the subject.

“Right. Well, you said we need to find this new Antichrist. Agnes say where he is? Hopefully, in a non cryptic or easily misconstrued way?”

“For Agnes, it is positively crystal clear.” The angel assures him. 

“Guess I'll pack a bag then.” Adam says. 

After clearing up a few other items that comes from having to take an abrupt and undefined trip that comes from out of nowhere. Adam gets in the back seat of the Bentley, enjoying, in that distinctly male way, the sensation of being in a metal phallic object. The angel and demon stood outside.

“You want to go ahead and I’ll follow?” The demon asks. 

“You don’t know where we are going, and I wouldn't want to lose you.”

“Please, angel, I'm in far more practice flying than you.”

“It's not something one forgets, like riding a velocipede.” 

“Bicycle.”

“I just think I should carry us all, as I know where we are going.” 

“There is no need for you to carry the car and navigate at the same time. How about I hold onto you?”

That makes the angel stop short, then shake his head as if clearing it. “Let me take us now and you can do it next time we need to fly somewhere.”

“Fine fine,” The demon slinks into the driver seat, sulking a bit. Then, between one heartbeat and the next, they were gone.

  
  


[The angel and demon technically didn’t need a heartbeat, but it helped regulate temperature.]


	6. Chapter 6

They were set down with a rather large bump on a quiet drive surrounded on both sides by woods. The demon glared at the angel, who got in the passenger side which was suddenly on the opposite side he was used to. 

“Bit of a rough landing.” The demon said snidely. The angel ignored him.

“I wanted us to be somewhere inconspicuous. We are on a seldom used road just outside of Alliance, Nebraska.”

“Okay. so how do we find him?” The demon asks

“Agnes says,  _ 'The spawn of evil shal be raifed up by Turners, and they sharl call him Jesse, and keep him darke to the truthe of his nature. Upon his tenth year, the serpant and angell and beast shal findeth him in the towne of Unity in the New Worlde.’” _

"So, his name is Jesse? And he doesn't know he is the Antichrist?"

"Jesse Turner, I believe. And it is possible that the bit that refers to his nature might have alternative explanations."

They cruised slowly through the town. 

“Ten years old,” the demon mused. “Cambions tend to come into their power at eleven.” 

“Cambion?” Adam asked.

“Half demon, half human. The opposite of a nephilim which is half human, half angel. That was put a stop to quite a while back. It’s also the reason angels and fallen angels have to take human vessels. With permission, of course.” Aziraphale answered

Adam wondered if he counted as a nephilim or a cambion and then decided to put that thought out of his head forever.

“Vessels? You mean like when you possessed Madam Tracey?”

“ Ah, yes. That was rather a lucky stroke. She had opened herself up for possession, giving blanket permission you might say because she was performing an, er, seance.”

“But you aren’t possessing anyone right now, I'd be able to tell.“

“Oh, no. You see cro- ,well, when the two of us were originally assigned to earth, it was prior to all that business with the nephilim. In fact, it would have been a bit difficult to take a human vessel since there were so few humans at the time! Just the two, you, see. So we were given custom made bodies.” 

“Much nicer than possession.” The demon said. “Aside from the issue of taking an already occupied body, custom vessels are easier to manipulate their, wossname, morphological fields are more fluid.” 

“Morphological field.” Adam repeated to himself. He would have to look that up later.

“So angel, any big ideas for what to do when we find this kid?”

“Well…” The angel paused. He hadn’t actually thought this far ahead. 

“You two are really rubbish at planning, do you know that?” 

“Oi, we had a good plan last time. It just got cocked up at the beginning. Who would have guessed that there would be another baby being born at that time?”

“I wonder how young Warlock is doing,” The angel mused. “Maybe we should look him up if we have the time.”

“If we have the time while attempting to save the world you mean? Besides, he’s fine. Got married, has a couple of kids, works for a charity.”

“You know?”

“He has a Facebook, angel.” 

“That’s one of those social web things isn't it.”

“Yes. It's a social media site.”

“And you can talk to him through it? Like a telephone?” 

“It's more text based and has photos.”

“Oh my, that's interesting.” 

Adam felt they were rather getting off track. “What exactly was your plan last time, then? I’m guessing shooting me was something of a last resort.”

There was an awkward silence at that. 

“Well, we thought that we could act as something like godfathers, giving a balanced upbringing of the divine and occult. That way he, er, the boy we thought was the Antichrist, wouldn’t feel inclined one way or the other.”

“Oddly enough, that’s what we got anyway with you, just by having you be left alone away from any influences at all. Not an angel, not a demon, just human.”

“Won’t this Jesse be ‘just human’ too then? If his parents ‘hid his true nature’.”

“Maybe, we don’t know anything about his upbringing, if they kept someone around keeping him on the path so to speak.”

“Wouldn’t you notice if there was someone hanging about?

The two beings exchange a glance. 

“Some reconnaissance might be in order.” The angel said. 

“Brilliant.” The demon says. “I’ll find a hotel. I could do with a nap.”

It was agreed by two of the three in the group that Adam and the demon would look into the situation with Jesse, and Aziraphale would study The Book, as the angel was not the most talented at subterfuge. The angel protested strongly to this, stating that he had managed to keep under wraps for several hundred years. To which the demon trotted out several dozen examples of how bad this had backfired on the angel. 

  
  


[When compared to other angels, Aziraphale is positively inconspicuous, but any human spending any amount of prolonged time with the angel tended to notice some...oddities. It wasn’t such a big deal nowadays when most people don’t believe in magic or miracles and will brush off any...phenomenon. However, it had gotten him into some hot water a few times in the past when people were unable to tell the difference between etherel and occult magics. Then one time he had been called a saint which was rather awkward all around. Crowley on the other hand tended to blend in better, not only because he kept up with current fashion and trends, but also because he made a point of trying to stand out. When you act like a flash bastard, people assume any unusual events are tricks to purposely draw attention. Which is true in a sense. Also Crowley cared much less about being called a creature of darkness, since it was an entirely accurate assessment.]

  
  


So the next day, the demon and former antichrist spend some time breaking into public buildings trying to find records of Jesse Turner. This was surprisingly easy. 

They hack into a computer in the central office of the local school system. Crowley making sure that they drew no notice and could easily bypass the security. Though, honestly, there wasn’t much to begin with. It's like they wanted the identities and information of these kids to be stolen. It must be true what they said about American public education. Adam scrolled through lists of fourth graders. 

“Here he is! Jesse Turner, Mrs. Raoul’s class.” A few clicks later and they had his parent’s names and home address. Really it was shameful. 

“Well, he’s at school right now, and presumably his parents are at work. Shall we go see his house? Make sure there isn’t any… I don’t know, occult paraphernalia laying about?” The demon suggested. 

Not having a better plan, Adam agreed. 


	7. Chapter 7

The house was pretty average looking, if a bit dim and empty at the moment. They go inside. There were the requisite school and wedding pictures on the walls and shelves. They go from room to room, but see nothing more nefarious than an old rifle on the wall, which Adam gathered was normal for American households. Jesse’s room was messy as is typical for a young boy. He seemed more interested in reading than Adam had at that age. But there were also pictures of robots and various sports equipment lying about. 

“See anything...demonic?” Adam asks. 

“No, seems pretty normal.” The demon said. “But then I didn’t exactly draw pentagrams everywhere when I was taking care of Warlock. If there is a...influencer near Jesse, maybe they are being more subtle.” He pauses and considers some of the demons he knows. “Maybe. I have heard that more mortal demons are being consulted these days and they tend to have a better understanding of how things work up here.”

“So we need to keep watch.” Adam says. He was getting the feeling that detective work was much less like he had read in books and seen on telly, and was going to involve a lot more boredom and frustration than liked. 

“Looks like.” Says the demon. 

The duo had a brief argument over the presence of the Bentley on the street. Adam thought it was too conspicuous. He rightly posited that they had likely been noted and gossiped about all over town. 

  
  


[Tadfeild was a small town, so Adam knew how this sort of thing worked. Nothing out of the ordinary happened without everyone gossiping about it and a 1930s black Bentley cruising down the street driven by a flash bastard in mirrored shades certainly counted as out of the ordinary] 

  
  


The demon argued that he could make it so no one noticed the car. But Adam pointed out that they were spying on a potential Antichrist, who would probably still notice. 

“I knew there was something about Dog. Wasn’t sure what it was at the time or why I was so sure, but I definitely noticed. I’m guessing this Jesse will too.”

So instead they rent an inconspicuous beige Buick.

  
  


[Well rent, per say. They didn’t actually have the appropriate documentation, but a few minor miracles or the demonic equivalent took care of any potentially awkward questions. Though, the demon was completely disgusted with all the choices available. So Adam just picked the car he thought it most likely that his dad would drive]

  
  


They parked a little ways down the street from Jesse’s house just in time to see the school bus pull down the street. His parents were still not home. This bothered Adam a bit, but he also remembered how often he and his friends had run around unsupervised in the woods growing up. Which also was the reason why he knew what kind of trouble an unsupervised ten year old could get up to. The boy who hopped off the bus and let himself into the house was entirely unremarkable. He was small, with brown hair, slightly grubby in the way young boys seem to perpetually be. His backpack had some cartoon characters on it. The bus pulled away. 

They waited another half hour, and no car showed up. Lights went on and they could occasionally see movement from inside the house. 

His parents must work late. Adam said.

“Is it okay for him to be alone like this?” The demon asks unsure. Child rearing was one of those things that varied wildly over the centuries and from culture to culture. He didn’t tend to keep up with it as strenuously as things like fashion and music because it rarely affected him that often

  
  


[However, during his stint as a nanny he had read quite a few parenting books. He had left when Warlock was about eight, but he was fairly certain ten years old wasn’t entirely self sufficient.] 

  
  


“Pepper’s mom would work late when she was little. She and her sister would be on their own. Though they usually went over to someone’s house.” 

“It doesn’t look like he’s doing anything nefarious.” 

They continued to watch. It was extremely boring. Around six thirty, a car finally pulls into the drive, and a woman in a blazer gets out. Adam can’t see any real resemblance to the boy, which makes him wonder. 

“Where did he come from?” He asks out loud. 

“How’s that?”

“Well, I mean, I ended up with my parents by mistake I guess, and Warlock? Was their biological child.”

“Never was sure what happened to the third child.” The demon mused. 

“Oh, he was adopted, was actually my nemesis growing up, but we get along now. He’s the rugby coach at the secondary school. Anyway, where did I come from?”

“I didn’t ask. They just handed me a basket and told me where to take it. I handed it off to a nun.” 

“A satanic nun.” Adam interjected. He was still rather bemused at the fact that there had apparently been a cult of satanic nuns outside of Tadfeild. 

“Yes, obviously. If I had been, you know, competent, I suppose I should have made sure that the right baby got exchanged. But I was rather upset at the time and just wanted to get it over with as soon as possible.”

“Alright, but I was just...created? Willed into existence?”

“Well, yes and no. You're not the son of Satan and you never were. But also you are and had to be in order to make it so you weren’t. It was quite a neat loop in causality you made. But if this is leading up to how THIS Antichrist came to be that’s...a good question. Obviously, he had to be conceived by a demon and human, but…” He trails off frowning, then starts the car. “I don’t think we will get anything else from here. Let’s get back to the angel.”

The angel in question, when they got back to the hotel, had filled several notebooks with analysis of the further prophecies written in some sort of terrifyingly complicated code that involved numbers and ancient sigils. He looks up, and Crowley smirks at the round little glasses on his face. 

“Well? What did you find out? Is the boy…” He trails off unsure how to phrase the question. 

“Seems pretty normal so far.” The demon said. “No signs of animal sacrifice or cult followings.” 

Adam wonders if The Them could have been considered a cult following then he imagined Pepper’s reaction to calling them that. 

  
  


[After secondary school ended and the Them split ways for University and adult life, Adam had developed a ‘What Would Pepper Do’ mentality when he felt he might be making a stupid decision. She had always been very good at calling out bullshit. This had not changed once she moved back to Tadfeild and started her own law firm.] 

  
  


“Oh! Well that’s good.” The angel smiled in relief. 

“But Adam brought up a good point. We don’t know how the boy got here. Was he placed here? If so,why? He’s not a...direct descendant like Adam.” He side eyes the man, though it is rather hard to tell behind the shades. 

“If he isn’t HIS son then, is he still the Antichrist?” Adam asks. 

“An antichrist, I suppose.” The demon muses.”Though, I’m not sure there can be more than one, but you know, that hiccup in reality we talked about earlier. A cambion, like we said, which is still an issue. Very powerful. There was a reason they were banned. On both sides. So powerful it was said they could wipe out an entire legion with just a word. Never saw that myself, so I don’t know how true the rumours were.”

Adam is pointedly silent. 

“Well, except for that one time, but you were rather a special case all around.” 


End file.
